I pine for my studio/creative life when I am away from it too long. I even get grumpy like someone who has skipped too many meals or given up chocolate. But I do not actually bounce back into the studio like a dog with my tail wagging. The process is more akin to that of a mother hen who is inclined to rest up, clean house, get things in order and zip playfully about the barnyard (or adventure beyond) before settling down to the mental task of preparing to lay eggs and the commitment of sitting on them.
So I hiked. I mountain biked. I raged war on the mice that took over my cabin during my absence and I super-deep-cleaned the horrific messes the mice made while partying all over my home. I napped. Eventually I sifted through piles of mail, unloaded the sculptures, cleaned the studio, took care of my mother and caught up with my closest friends. I read a book (or two). I ate more junk food than usual and drank more whiskey than normal.
I climbed a mountain. The very next day I found myself back in the studio making piles of woodchips and sawdust. Feels sooooooo good to be back at it!!!
Better than chocolate…
Zaydee hasn’t been on every mountain bike ride since some are simply too long, hot and arduous for a dog but for twelve years she has been my enthusiastic faithful companion on most rides. She gets excited when I pull on padded shorts. She flips out at the trailhead when I gear up to go. Together we have covered hundreds of miles of single track. But at something around 14 years old (she is adopted) – she is showing her age. She can’t even keep up with me when I go for a run (and I am hardly a “runner”). We are coming to grips with this transition. I find myself full of gratitude for what we have shared and guilt for leaving her behind.
I heard wings above my head - right after I closed my eyes - three breaths into a mediation on top of my mountain. Zaydee and I were on the edge of the canyon next to the "Sound of Music" meadow. A hawk. Large. Close. Gracefully soaring around and around Zaydee and I. Crazy beautiful close. Then another - two raptors chortled and swooped. Magic. Then another and another and another joined - like Sunday church service - dipping and calling, circling the canyon above and below me. Wing sounds in air. Swish. Sunlight through feathers stretched impressively long. The original hawk hovered close, its beak dipped each time the bird looked directly at Zaydee or me. I half expected it to dive-bomb Zaydee; so close it dropped each time it circled. The raptors seemed to want attention, revel in currents as Zaydee and I watched. I thought to meditate beneath their shadows but they left when I dropped my gaze and closed my eyes. Blessed.
